


A Powerful Personality

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Begging, Biting, Hair-pulling, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:30:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson confronts Holmes about his drug use and discovers, to his delight, that Holmes is not always utterly cold and in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Powerful Personality

It was a blustery afternoon in March when I decided I could take his cocaine habit no longer. The few cases he’d gotten this winter had not been nearly as intriguing as he had hoped, and it had been a week since the conclusion of the last of these. His stormy moods were more frequent now, and it seemed he was ignoring me more often than not. I’d tried my utmost to be patient but my nerves were worn thin.

He was lying on the sofa, half-asleep, his morocco case clutched like a life preserver. It sickened me to see him with heavy-lidded eyes, stroking the case with slender fingers, lavishing it with caresses he’d probably never given to any human. I had once fantasized about him losing his sharpness and composure, giving in to more primal reactions, but now I simply missed his bright arrogance.

“Holmes, we need to talk,” I said, sitting down on the chair next to him.

“Yes, I imagined you might think so,” he answered absently, thumbs moving to the edges of the case. I rested a hand upon it firmly before he could flip it open.

“You can’t keep up this habit of yours. As much as you’re convinced that this seven-per-cent solution keeps your mind acute, it’s overtaking you.”

“I shall keep up any habits which suit me. It is my body and my earnings, after all, not a matter of household debate. Additionally, I should like to point out that I am not merely ‘convinced’ of things; I am convinced because I know it to be true.”

His logic annoyed me because he knew too well how to use it; he was skilled enough to apply it perversely for his own ends. If he had simply known when to give in, when to surrender even a sliver of his ego to someone else’s judgement, our interactions would have been so much easier. If on such occasions I could have used my cane to beat him until he gave up his attempts at self-justification, I would have been far more satisfied. As entertaining as the thought was, I was certain that nothing would have been a more repulsive idea to him.

“While it may seem to you like it’s helping your mind, over the long run it’s only making it worse,” I objected. “You may not be in a clear state to see it, but I am.”

“You believe you have a more discerning view of the world than I? You do amuse me, Watson.” He tugged the case out of my reach and rolled over to face away from me, curling up with that accursed case held against his torso.

“Holmes, I know you crave stimulation; you thrive on novelty.” I spoke amiably, truly wishing to help him find some optimism, even given how much he was frustrating me. “There are other ways to find that.”

“Hence why you’d gone this morning try to procure passports for the both of us, operating under the delusion that you could somehow convince me to travel.”

“Not just travel, but move. We have enough saved up now that you could move to a different part of the country, or even another nation entirely; you could start up again there with a fresh batch of work, a new environment to discover.”

“Why the deuce would I want to do that? My knowledge is perfectly suited to London. Besides, I refuse to believe that there is anything else in the world that could truly puzzle me. There is only my case now and I insist you leave me to it.” His voice sounded bitter; he clearly was not appreciating the conversation. I was not surprised; whenever the subject of his addiction was brought up, he either changed the subject or was quickly overcome by a foul mood.

“Holmes, I am both your doctor and your friend,” I tried again. “In all earnestness, I would not have brought it to your attention if it was not a very real problem.”

“My doctor? You are not my doctor, my dear Watson, you are simply a doctor who happens to share lodgings with me,” Holmes replied crisply. He ventured a look back over his shoulder at me and, apparently judging me to no longer be a direct threat to his cocaine, pulled himself up to a somewhat civilized position though still clearly lounging. “Furthermore, even if you were my doctor, I would still point out that I am not liable to cede to even polite requests from anyone regarding how I conduct my own business.”

“If that’s truly how you feel about the situation then I will not press further.” My heart was heavy as I stared into his defiant eyes, convinced now that the matter with him was hopeless. Our situation as friends clearly had been soured from this icy winter and, as for my underlying passion for him, that had been pathetic and impossible from start to finish. I both pitied him and envied him for being so apathetic towards the warmth of emotion and of flesh alike.

“Watson, I do have one question for you.”

“Yes?” I sighed.

“Why passports for both of us?”

“You’re the detective genius, Holmes. I daresay you’d know better even than my own self.” I did not mean for it to come out as harshly as it did, as I did rather mean it. Given how thoroughly I’d suppressed my feelings for him, I did not know why I’d on some level assumed I would want to or could move with him.

“You are emotionally dependent on me,” he stated.

“Excuse me?” I sputtered, caught between a snarl and a laugh. “You believe that I’m emotionally dependent on you? How exactly did you come to this conclusion?”

“Well, your practice is going fairly, not well but not too poorly either, so the issue of paying rent alone is certainly not it. Nor is there any negative influence which would push you away from London; I would have known about it long ago if there was. That said, you have no strong connections here; you have your patients and acquaintances of course, but no wife or family to speak of. Compounded with the fact that you are quite a warm, even loving dare I say, individual, it is natural for you to gravitate towards the closest individual you have in your life and follow him wherever he may go. That person for you is, of course, myself.”

“I’m afraid you have it wrong, Holmes.” I stood and began to put my coat on. I would not be angry with him, not in any way that I’d show -as much as I wished I could strike him for his impertinence- but I did need a walk. “You’ve forgotten that I do have some friends, perhaps none as dear as I would like, but I am not alone in this world as you are. Additionally, I am not the fool you would make me out to be. I do not believe in unrequited affection, even of the fraternal sort, and so logic would dictate that I seize the opportunity to part with you should you move elsewhere. As much as I would have liked to have some bond with you, your aloofness makes that utterly impossible.”

“Perhaps.” He did not speak again until my hand reached for the doorknob. What I heard then was enough to make me freeze. “Your intuitions about my imperfect understanding of my own psychological condition may in fact have merit. The cocaine is dear to me, but I believe I have falsely attributed my duress in this situation, and I now must reconsider whether the seven-per-cent solution is the only thing which I have grown to rely on.”

“I’m not quite sure I know what you’re getting at.” The calmness in my voice came easily to me even as I was paralyzed. I had to follow his example and not allow any possible conclusion to enter my mind before I had gathered all the explicit evidence that could be offered.

“It seems quite likely, Watson, that I am emotionally dependent upon you.”

I let my hand fall back down to my side, turning to look at him but not moving away from the door. He watched me inquisitively, waiting for me to respond, searching for some reaction, but I would not talk. I would have liked to think that my silence was a mark of my patience yet in a way it was more a matter of maintaining the upper hand, of coercing Holmes into exposing his own feelings before I said anything about my own.

“I suppose I have been sulking too much this winter and not been properly appreciative of your company,” he went on. He was speaking more slowly and carefully than he usually did rather than caught up in self-assured haste. “I have found very little to stimulate my mind for months, and I may have been expressing my frustrations in a way which have not been conducive to our... friendship.”

The timing of that pause made me grin wryly. “Holmes, do you think I am so unlike you that I cannot formulate my own hypothesis from all the little details you’re offering up in this conversation?” The hypothesis was, of course, that this was a purely platonic matter. However, even that would have been difficult for Holmes to embrace and admit to himself, so pushing him on with some ambiguity would confirm it.

“Hypothesis? What hypothesis? I’m being deplorably open with you,” he said, attempting to sound indignant.

“You of all men know it’s unwise to take claims at face value, especially on such tricky matters as human emotion.” I returned to where he sat, leaning down to run a finger along the line of his jaw, feeling his prickly stubble and praying that he did not take this the wrong way. It was one of a rare few opportunities where touching him came naturally, and I could not pass up the chance. “Tell me, Holmes, if you were in my position, what would you think you meant behind your cold front and then your spurious confession?”

The change that overcame him was subtle but unmistakable: something I was doing was getting to him. His grip on the case had been looser since he had mentioned his alleged emotional dependence but now it dropped entirely, hitting the floor with a dull clunk that did not distract either of us. He seemed at the brink of shaking and he moved his chin a centimeter closer to me, as if leaning in to my touch.

All trace of sullenness had left his features but more than that, his eyes had lost their stark, penetrating gaze. They were still looking, certainly, but it was not the expression of a detective analyzing his evidence or an authority figure interrogating his suspects. No, it was more akin to a child seeking comfort and approval, or- my breath caught in my lungs as the thought came to me- an unrequited lover seeking recognition.

“I assure you that my confession is genuine.” He gulped and inhaled deeply. Talking had never come so hard to him as I now witnessed. “You are of great importance to me, and I must implore you not to think less of me upon admitting it.”

“Holmes, we both know that I am of little use to you.” When the words first came out, I did not know why I spoke with such denial; it was unkind and hence rather uncharacteristic of me. “There are many other men who would be of equal or greater service in assisting you with your work, and as you have pointed out, I am not your doctor. There is no area in which I complement you; you are the superior detective, and apart from your detective work, all your pursuits are strictly solitary.” I stopped as I realized precisely why I was being so callous. I needed reassurance, that at the least I was a dear friend to him, even if that was all we would ever be.

“That may not be entirely accurate,” he said. I could no longer deny that he was straining towards my touch and I found myself sliding my hand up from his jaw to cup his cheek as he spoke. “Yes, you are no match for me in matters of investigation, but you are a powerful man in your own right, I believe.” His certainty wavered visibly, as if he was not sure how he wanted me to take it. “Not in wealth or office or career, but somewhere deep within your personality. Though, as you have reminded me in the past, I am occasionally mistaken.” He tried to shake his head, but I stopped him.

“And you find a powerful personality appealing?” I’d spent so long being even-tempered with him, letting him maintain his distance and tolerating his not speaking to me when it suited him. I yearned to stop stroking his cheek and to just slap him, to drop all of my composure and finally subject him to my whims rather than the other way around. Our professional lives were one matter but what sort of treatment I would tolerate on a more intimate level was a different situation entirely.

“In a very particular realm, yes.” He sounded meek. Holmes never sounded meek. Then again, never before had I been leaning over him, touching him with such familiarity as I did now.

I slid my hand up the nape of his neck, catching his soft black hair. There was no hint of objection in his features, only anticipation. Without further warning, I curled my fingers around, catching more of his comely hair, and pulled sharply. He threw his head back and positively mewled, digging his own fingers into the couch. His throat was beautifully exposed, and it was too tempting for me to resist any longer.

Kicking the case well out of our way, I pulled him down to the floor and fell upon him, lips to his delicate throat. For a moment he was still and I could fell his chest rise and fall under me as I tasted the salt of his skin. All too soon it was ruined as he put his arms around my waist and held me tightly. It should have been flattering but I pried his arms away and pinned them down.

“After all this, you dare to bloody grab at me, Holmes? Really?” I was nearly yelling, trying to keep my voice down until I remembered that Mrs. Hudson had said she’d be out running errands until nightfall. For once, timing seemed to be working to my advantage; I continued unchecked. “You did not even speak for me for half the month of February, and you’ve given up most of our conversations, our work together, even your violin playing so you could devote more and more of your time to your drugs. You need me, you like my 'powerful personality', yet you try to grasp me as if I was yours after you so often have denied me any attention."

Holmes looked at me with the most pitiful expression. I paused and lowered my voice.

“Holmes, I’m sorry; I should not-”

“No, I do rather like you like this, Watson,” he replied. “I also cannot say that I don’t deserve it.” He was panting, writhing beneath me. It seemed that being held down only heightened his reactions from earlier. I was astounded: Holmes liked being dominated. He didn’t simply like it, he adored it. It must have aroused him too, as even through our clothing I could feel his erection. I did not let my delighted surprise linger; I would not give him another opportunity to take control..

“I am not going to let cocaine take you away from your work. More importantly, I am not going to let that bloody drug take you away from me.”

“Ta-take me away from you?” Holmes managed to gasp.

“Yes, Holmes, you are mine. Perhaps you are right- I am not your doctor, but you are my detective.” I brought his hands together and switched my grasp so I could hold both his wrists with one hand, my free hand going to his throat. I gave it a quick, vicious squeeze and he arched his back under me.

“Watson, please...” I did not know whether he wanted to be kissed or fucked or choked and I didn’t care. It was exhilarating to simply do as I wished.

“Well, Holmes, are you mine? Or are you so cleverly trying to change the subject?”

“I’m yours,” he breathed.

It was enough. I did not care how his head banged against the floor from the savagery of my kiss, nor was I deterred by his pained cry as bit his lower lip. He was so sensitive to my touch; every time I adjusted my grip on his wrists or moved my tongue or shifted against his body, he rutted against me like an animal in heat, shamelessly desperate for more.

“You’re so bloody needy, Holmes. Is your libido even more desperate for stimulation than your mind?”

“I suppose it is. Please kiss me again?”

“Holmes, I’ll do whatever I damn well please with you.” I didn’t really want to kiss him- not like this anyway.

I began to take off his clothing in a rather careless and hasty manner, to put it politely. His shirt suffered most, tearing it down the front and ripping off several buttons. When I reached his trousers I suspected he would have lifted a hand to help but he just lay there, shivering as my fingers slipped under the waistband and pulled down past his hips. I didn’t bother to take them completely off; I wasn’t going to let him get up anyway.

I watched his cock twitch as I ran my nails down his chest. I left light marks and I raked down again to see how much he could take. It was still far from drawing blood but he made the most delightful noise. I pressed myself against him and bit his neck, sucking fervently, consequences be damned. Lending him one of my high-collared shirts would be a small price to pay for being able to freely mark my territory.

“I’m glad my hypothesis was correct,” Holmes managed through his moans. “You do possess a powerful personality under the right circumstances.”

“Holmes, shut up.” I stood only to throw off my coat and remove my own trousers but he could not tolerate the removal of touch for even a moment and pouted wordlessly until I came back down to him.

Our erections touched as I hungrily kissed him, his body so alive that I could practically feel his heart beating against my chest even through my shirt. I grasped at his hair, his arms, his neck, anywhere I could reach, never lingering long enough for him to relax. He would occasionally try to put a hand on me but I always slapped him away; my denial only made him want me more.

“You want me, don’t you?” I grabbed his chin, leering at him. “You want to be able to touch me, to hold me, to please me?”

“I do. I do, Watson.” He tried to kiss me in response but I only slammed his head back against the floor.

“Then beg for it.”

“Watson, please let me touch you,” he gasped, reaching a hand up to me. I caught it and dug my fingernails into his palm, shaking my head in disappointment. “I need you, I cannot stand to be held back-”

“For someone who’s so proud of his eloquence, you’re doing a bloody poor job,” I remarked.

“Watson, I want to embrace you. Please, let me put my arms around you to hold you close. Let my mouth fall upon yours. It’s been years of fruitless wanting and now I have finally tasted your lips and I must have more. You have such a fire in you, one every bit as furious as I could have ever hoped, and knowing now that it burns for me, I cannot survive without its heat.”

“More.”

“Let me do something for you, please. Touch me, let me touch you, thrust yourself into me; I don’t care, Watson! I need you, and I need you now.”

I pulled his hair back to look at his neck again, running a finger down his throat, my sight wandering up to his moist, parted lips. I turned myself one hundred and eighty degrees as efficiently as I could and rested on my hands and knees over him, my head directly above his quivering member. He could not resist and I felt him already reaching up to touch my own.

As he began to roughly jerk me off, I leaned down to lick the single salty droplet that had emerged from the slit. He inhaled sharply but his grasp did not hesitate. As much as I was sure his reaction to further teasing would have been immensely entertaining, I wasn’t the least bit in the mood for it. I bobbed my head down, letting most of his length enter my mouth for a moment and pulling back up.

He followed my lead and I felt my own cock slipping into his warm, wet mouth. I let myself rest my torso on top of his so I could wrap one of my hands around the base of his prick. With my other hand, I stroked his thigh, changing angles from fingertips to fingernails whenever he failed to keep up what I deemed sufficient rhythm.

His enthusiasm was considerable; I never tired of him writhing beneath me, especially not as I thrust myself further between his eager lips. His technique began to waver and I clawed at his leg warningly at first but I quickly realized why. He shook beneath me as my mouth was flooded with his ejaculate. I swallowed but I did not allow him any time recover; now undistracted by pleasuring him, I could focus on the feeling of Holmes’s mouth enveloping me. No less than a minute later, my own body shuddered with release.

We managed to get ourselves back to a face-to-face position before we collapsed, my arm over his side, holding him in closely. No word other than bliss adequately described the look on his face. We wallowed in comfortable silence for several minutes before the original issue returned to nag my brain.

“I’m serious about the cocaine, Holmes.”

“I know, Watson. Luckily for you, I am also serious about the emotional dependence. On my end, that is.” He cuddled up against me even as his tone returned to one I was used to hearing. The juxtaposition of his affection and the best of his strength of character was, I admit, endearing. “I am rather adverse to the idea of giving up cocaine entirely, as I am sure you know, but in light of this afternoon’s events, I am even more adverse to the idea of giving up you.”

“I do care for you, and I want you in my life. As I said before though, the cocaine will destroy you if you continue its frequent use. I could not bear to kindle our passion only to have it swallowed up by the raging furnace of your addiction.”

“I will not let that happen. I shall find new opportunities to pique my interest and challenge my mind. Perhaps travel, as you suggested.”

“We shall look into it tomorrow then.”

“Indeed. And Watson?”

“Yes?”

“I admit that I am most thoroughly delighted that your erotic personality seems to be every bit as domineering and wanton as I’d imagined.” He smiled deviously. “Sadly, I must remind you that one data point is never enough from which to draw a conclusion.

“Is that so? And whatever shall we do about that?”

“Gather more evidence, my dear Watson. I suggest further testing on a daily basis for the next several weeks.”

“It’ll be a challenge, certainly, but together I’m sure we can arrange something of the sort.”


End file.
